


The Webber

by executrix



Category: Andrew Lloyd Webber Musicals - Fandom, Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26544907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/executrix/pseuds/executrix
Summary: West End and Broadway musical hits, Federation edition
Relationships: Jenna Stannis/Tarvin, Kerr Avon/Anna Grant
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	The Webber

1\.   
Blake had been informed that--a small price to pay!--insomnia was a frequent side-effect of the treatment. There was a small pop, as a streetlight died and the velvet of black encroached more of the street outside.

The tea leaves had been brewed often enough that they provided little more than a memory of strength, but the mug was warm in his hand and a whiff of scent fought the stale, cold smell of morning.

{{I must think of a new life, and I mustn't give in.}} Just one more positive report from his psychostrategist and the party leader for his block, and he'd be allowed back to work.

{{I remember}} he told himself, hoping for belief {{When I knew what happiness was.}} Mail delivery was scheduled for 0900 hours. Perhaps there'd be a tape from his brother and sister, offworld.

2.  
The prison governor sighed. "Goodbye, Restal. Or should I say au revoir? Do try to stay away from us for more than three months this time."

"Yes, sir," Vila said, the small tartan hold-all pressed against his calf. "I'll be fine." {{Well, maybe not so fine, but I'll survive, anyhow.}}

"They must be looking forward to seeing you at home...maybe even give you a party, if your sisters can get out of bed and keep their legs together that long, that is."

Vila turned the protest into a cough. Even if he'd had a devastating response, uttering it would only get him into trouble again. {{Every time it matters, all my words desert me. So anyone can hurt me. And they do.}}

His Mum wasn't waiting at the gate, and he felt a brief flare of worry. Legs bad again, then? Something worse? No one from his family. He started walking, with an oppressive sense of being followed.

Half a kilometer later, a horn honked, and a long gazcar with darkened windows (well, who but a successful thug would have personal transportation anyway?) stopped.

A window rolled down, and Vila could see the cropped orange hair (one streak dyed eggyolk yellow down the middle) of a bloke that he knew vaguely. "Get in, Vila!" which, the habit of obedience not having worn off yet, he did.

"Where'm I going to?" 

"Don't ask any more," Chezz said, shaking up a can of lager until half of it foamed over Vila, who grabbed the can and drank down the rest of it anyway, it was the first drink he'd had in six months except for prison home-brew. 

3.  
{{This is not like me at all}} Avon thought, arranging a rose! and some ferns! in a bud vase on a tray that already held an opened bottle of wine, a couple of glasses, and a plate of cheese straws. He carried the tray to the bedroom, pausing for a moment inside the door, paralyzed by Anna's smile. 

She picked up a glass of wine and posed with it. "Avon, why do I never know what you're thinking?" 

"Days are longer now," he said. "Words mean more." 

{{Time to wind up the assignment}} she thought. {{Not the worst one I ever had, but...I don't know why Chesku chose him. And I wonder what sort of satisfaction he derives from listening to the surveillance tapes.}}

Avon sat down on the bed and held his hand against Anna's face, fingertips brushing her cheekbone, her small pointed chin nestled in his palm. "You look at me as though you couldn't bear to lose me."

"Oh, I have that photograph you asked for," she said.

{{I don't need it any more}} he thought. {{Now, no matter where I am, no matter what I do, I see your face.}}

4.  
"I've heard she's awfully well-connected," Formby-Catton said into his G&T (ice and slice).

"Only in one sense," Bellmore told him. "Colonel Servalan's been covered more often than 'My Funny Valentine.' But the shooting-sticks of the upper class aren't supporting a single arse that would rise for the girl."

"At least something of the Vice-President's seems to rise for her," Formby-Catton said.

"And he's an actor!" Bellmore said. "The last straw!" 

5.  
{{She looks tired}} Jenna thought. {{That's apart from the usual looking like a football on clothespegs.}} "I'll be Mum, Aunt Alta," she said, pouring out nearly-coffee from an almost-silver pot. 

"And how is your friend Tarvin, Jenna dear?" Alta Morag asked. 

"Oh, he's off doing a deal, and I hate it when he's away."

Alta Morag's eyes glittered above the arrowroot biscuit disappearing into the fiery furnace of her mouth. "Well..." she began happily.

"You must be mistaken," Jenna said. "There must be lots of spacecraft with stickers on...lots of young men wear corduroy robes...and anyway....I knew before!"

6\.   
Kevonne shivered, not just because her coat was thin but because it was a long walk to the tram stop, she'd had to work nearly an hour extra after her shift ended. There was a small pop as a streetlight died. 

As she walked past the alley, she almost-heard something (but he was trained to move quietly). At first it just seemed like more darkness enfolding her, darkness she couldn't fight. Black coat, black boots, black hat. When he closed his eye darkness enfolded him too, as he surrendered to his darkest imaginings, tremulous and tender. And under the hat, in the faint light, what was that? Only half a face beneath a mask?

Kevonne tried to scream but fright shut her throat.

"Sing for me!" Travis told her, needing to hear the scream until he would need to hear it stop. "Sing for me, bitch!"


End file.
